When God Closes a Door, He Opens a Window
by Asynca
Summary: After the events of Rise of the Tomb Raider, Lara reflects with Sofia on what they've lost.


A plume of smoke still hung low over the Geothermal valley, there was the bitter smell of fire and ruin in every breath. It had cleared since this morning, though, at least, and it would be better by sunset. The Remnants worked on as if it didn't exist, re-thatching their rooves, re-stringing their bows. Chatting to each other in low voices about what had happened as if no one had died and nothing was wrong.

I walked through their village listening to their gossip about so-and-so leaving, or who's child had landed her first kill, feeling _so_ alien from them. It took me _so long_ to even be able to read what the newspapers were saying about Yamatai, and they were speaking of it like something _awful_ hadn't just happened. Like it was just another day. It had never been just another day for me, not once, not since Yamatai.

And Sam…

God.

Sam. Sam _still_ couldn't talk about it. She snapped at me over the smallest little thing and wouldn't let me into her bedroom at night when I _knew_ she was crying. I knew she was getting the care she needed now, but knowing she was still suffering over Yamatai made my chest _ache_. Even now, a year later, travelling without her felt odd, I still expected to spin around and discover she'd been silently filming me for the last few minutes with a big grin on her face, or to be shaken awake at night by her because the Northern Lights were in the sky. But my tent was empty, and no one was filming me. And all of these people here, who'd lost _so much_ , so many of their friends and family, they didn't seem to have the hole inside them that I did over one single person.

I'd been intending to go sit on the tower by the glacial lake to get some headspace, but I climbed up there to find it already occupied by someone with a hard face and red hair.

Sofia looked up at me, her pale features lit with wry amusement at my surprise. "Were you looking for me?"

"No," I admitted. "I just thought I'd sit here and look at…" My voice trailed off when I saw _what_ I was looking at: the glacier was half its size and was smoking like a volcano, and the beautiful clear glacial lake was grey and brown and full of floating debris and— _ugh—_ the odd body part.

"The carnage?" Sofia offered.

"Something like that," I said dismissively.

She patted the stone ledge beside her. "Keep me company, then. It's my watch."

As I sat down beside her, she was watching me far more than she was watching the Glacier. It made me slightly uncomfortable; she didn't have her father's ease of presence or his kind eyes, and there was something sharp about her which made me worry that she might suddenly jam an arrow in my throat.

"You seem uneasy," she observed, proving that she _was_ the Prophet's daughter.

I laughed once. "Yes, I get that a lot." She didn't seem that way, though. She seemed genuinely relaxed, even though her _father_ had just died. I turned my head towards her. "I don't understand why you're not, Sofia. Not after what happened."

She spent a few moments considering me, and then she looked outwards at the ruin again. "Because I lost my father last night?" she asked openly.

I flinched. "Yes."

She smiled. "Many of my people lost their fathers last night, and their mothers, and their sisters, and their friends," she said. "And they _all_ lost my father, too. My grief is not more special than theirs. Everyone's lost someone who—"

"—That's just it, Sofia," I said, interrupting her. " _So many people_ are dead! How is everyone just carrying on like everything's completely fine?"

Again, she gave me a measured look. "Because that's our purpose, Lara."

"It's your _purpose_ to lose people?"

She nodded. "My people are here to protect a holy place and something of _immeasurable_ value. With great duty comes great risk, we know that. We've always known that. All of us are ready to give our lives to keep this holy place pure, we're taught that as soon as we can hold a bow."

Those words struck home for me, but even though I felt the truth in every single one of them, my own losses _still_ ached. "But he was your _father_ ," I attempted, knowing how much that hurt, myself.

"Yes," she told me. "But my people need me. This place needs me, as it needs us all." She gestured out towards the glacier. "So, I sit here, and I watch. And when my watch has finished, I will oversee repairs of the village, and then I will help replenish the supply caches, and life will go on, even without the people we've lost, and we will be happy again."

 _Life will go on, even without the people we've lost_. Those words _hurt_. A _grinding_ , _burning_ , _aching_ deep inside my chest. What sort of life would it be without any of the people I loved? "But what if I don't want it to?"

Her face relaxed. I think she understood my investment in what she was saying. "It will anyway," she told me gently. "Whether or not I accept what I am and accept my duty, I will always be what I am, and you will always be what you are, and what we are means we are destined to lose people." She put a hand on my shoulder. "But Lara, there will always be other people. You will be happy again. Grieve for the people you've lost, and then turn your face to the sun again. When God closes a door, he opens a window."

 _And I want to jam that damn window shut tight and keep working on the bloody door_ , I thought bitterly, clenching my teeth. I didn't _have_ to lose Sam, I didn't have to lose her. Why was she trying so hard to be lost?

A hand squeezed my shoulders. "Let go, Lara," she said quietly. "Let go."

Let Sam go? Just like that, without _trying_ to help her? "I can't"

She exhaled. "It will destroy you if you don't."

I pressed my lips in a thin, tight line. "Lots of things have tried to destroy me," I told her. "And none of them have. This won't, either."

She withdrew her hand and watched me at length. "I hope you find peace," was the last thing she said.

But I didn't _want_ peace. I didn't want any of this healing, letting-go, life-will-go-on peace. I didn't want it.

I wanted my Sam.


End file.
